


unexpected, in the worst way

by fluffysfics



Series: punk rock never dies, and neither does the Master [6]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, mild depictions of violence, my apologies to disco music I swear you’re not actually bad, punk Master, the Master’s time on Earth, very ill-advised kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: Everything’s going well for the Master, stuck in 1978 as he is. Naturally, the Doctor has to show up and ruin it. Not quite the Doctor he was expecting, though...
Relationships: Eighth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: punk rock never dies, and neither does the Master [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696336
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43





	unexpected, in the worst way

**Author's Note:**

> you don’t have to read the rest of this series to understand this fic, a couple of character names might go over your head but they’re only mentioned v briefly in this!

The night was young, and the Master felt really, honestly _good_ for the first time in decades. Friends around him, head buzzing pleasantly with intoxication, the music blaring around them far, far too loud to let him be capable of forming anything even close to a coherent thought. 

It had been a couple of months since he’d decided _fuck it_ , might as well start _living_ if he was going to be stranded on Earth, and he hadn’t regretted that decision for a moment. 

There wasn’t a feeling in the universe quite like this. His throat hurt from yelling out the lyrics to songs he only half-knew, his feet hurt from dancing for so long, and he wouldn’t trade either of those feelings for the world. 

The song came to an end, the harsh blare of guitars fading into the sparkling synthesisers of a disco hit, and the Master pulled a face. Time for a break. He’d lived through this period on Earth several times now, and he’d had enough of disco by about halfway through the time the Doctor’s ridiculous grumpy old man self had decided to get obsessed with it. Several months of Donna Summer hits played on electric guitar would be enough to put anyone off. 

“Going to get some water. Back in a minute,” he yelled into Tasha’s ear, brushing her blonde hair aside for a moment to do so. She nodded distractedly, still enjoying the music, and the Master detached himself from where he’d been standing between her and Cricket, and slipped away into the crowd. 

It was raining outside, a warm September rain that still felt pleasantly cool against his heat-flushed skin. The Master leaned back against the wall of the crowded nightclub’s dingy little outdoor smoking area. The weather had clearly put anyone off from actually using it, and they were all smoking inside instead. He really couldn’t wait until the UK got around to passing all those laws about _not doing that_ , it was very annoying to come home from a night out with his clothes stinking of cigarettes. Never mind. He tipped his head back to the sky, closing his eyes and enjoying the droplets falling on his face. 

A faint, tuneless humming drifted to his ears from the corner of the smoking area, and he snapped his eyes back open. Not quite as alone as he’d thought. A figure with shoulder-length curls was sat in a chair under the singular shitty parasol, dressed in velvet and drinking something from a crystal glass that the Master was _sure_ he hadn’t picked up at the bar inside. 

He dropped his own glass of water on the floor, where it promptly smashed into several large, sharp pieces. 

The figure jumped and turned around, revealing wide, clear blue eyes now clouded with sudden concern. 

_Fuck_. 

“Hello?” The Doctor tilted his head, lowering his glass. “...Do I know you?”

The Master stared at him, feeling rooted to the spot. Just when he’d got the Doctor, _his_ Doctor, out of his mind- another one showed up to torment him. This was...completely unexpected, in the worst way possible. 

There was something of _her_ in this one, too; something about the look in his eyes, that bright, sparkling curiosity. They were the same person, he supposed; it made sense. Two versions out of so, so many. 

“Why are you here?” Maybe he’d been tracked, somehow, even though he’d been careful to make himself scarce. Far too many versions of himself wandering around this time period. Maybe the Doctor was here to foil an evil plan that he’d never been concocting. 

“Needed somewhere nice to have a drink,” the Doctor said mildly. “Aimed for a beach on the Isle of Wight in summer, ended up in...Islington, is this? Same first few letters, I suppose. You seem to know me, so- who are you?” 

“Doctor,” he said, evenly. “You ruined my life.” 

“Oh.” This version of the Doctor blinked at him, and set his glass down on the table in front of him. “I’d love to apologise properly, but I’m rather afraid that I don’t recognise you. Having a bit of a funny go of things, this time around, regarding my memories.” 

The Master just shook his head, raking his fingers through his now-wet hair. He was too drunk for this, or perhaps not drunk enough. He should go back to his friends, leave this Doctor that wasn’t his Doctor alone. 

“Of course you don’t recognise me,” he said instead, his voice sharp. “You don’t know me yet.” He could give himself away, right now, and possibly change the course of his own history irreversibly. Cause some horrible paradox, just for the fun of it, just because he was drunk and angry and he _could_. Or maybe it wouldn’t change history at all, this Doctor was a ridiculous amnesiac. The Master was surprised that he even remembered his own name sometimes. 

“Oh,” the Doctor said again. “I’m- I’m sure I’m very sorry, dear fellow, for whatever I did to you in the future.” 

“No, you’re not.” Scowling, the Master snatched up one of the shards of glass from the ground. In a few furious steps he was in front of the Doctor, standing over him, suddenly _pouncing_ \- jamming the glass up against his throat. The Doctor’s eyes widened, and he squeaked, actually _squeaked_. Fuck, the Master had forgotten what this one was like. Innocent, at this point in his timeline. Sweet, and innocent, and currently scared for his life. 

His Doctor would be grinning at him. There’d be something manic in her eyes, something daring him to push harder, hurt her, _go on_ , you know you won’t do it- 

He growled, digging the glass in hard enough to raise drops of blood along the edge of it, and then he hurled the makeshift weapon against the wall behind them. It exploded, raining glass down on them both- one piece stung the Master’s cheek, a few tiny sparkling shards landed in the Doctor’s hair. 

This was a terrible, terrible idea. Nevertheless, he was doing it. The Master grabbed a fistful of the Doctor’s curls, dragging their lips together in a crushing kiss. 

He was too drunk, too shocked, too miserable to think too hard about it, but there was a whole raw well of emotion inside of him now, one that he’d bricked off and _kept_ bricked off for a good couple of months. 

It had been bliss. He should have known it couldn’t last. 

If he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, he could picture his Doctor here instead. The hair was the wrong texture, but the right length, and this Doctor’s lips were soft enough to be hers. He gripped those curls _harder_ , and the Doctor just whimpered faintly against his lips, and pressed closer. He was an odd one, this one- he seemed to have accepted that the man who’d been threatening his life was kissing him now, like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

It wasn’t _right_. The Doctor he wanted would have fought him viciously, would have him on his back on the floor by now and be making him regret ever daring to be so rough with her. 

Frustrated tears stinging his eyes, the Master broke away from the kiss. The Doctor just looked mildly confused, and he was pressing a hand to his neck, examining the thin cut in his skin. 

“Fuck you,” the Master hissed. “ _Fuck_ you.”

“Who... _are_ you?” Blue eyes met his own, pale and concerned, and for a moment the Master really was tempted to tell him everything. One shot, he decided. He’d give it one shot. 

“Harry Marsters.” The name he’d been using here was so _obviously_ a fake; if the Doctor had even an ounce of common sense, he’d realise that. Realise who he really was. 

The Doctor reached up, gently touching the shoulder spikes on his leather jacket, tracing the faded logo of a local punk band on his t-shirt. He looked up again, holding the Master’s eyes, and for just a moment, the Master dared to think that-

“I’m sorry, Harry. I really don’t know who you are. Whatever I did to you- _will_ do to you, I hope I make it up to you afterwards.” The Doctor’s hand reached up, brushed his fringe out of his face. “You’re human, dear boy, you’ve got this whole wonderful planet to enjoy. I’m sure you’re going to be amazing.” 

The Master was on his feet in an instant, anger gripping his hearts like a vice. Why had he even _tried_? This Doctor couldn’t help him. Shit, even the Doctor he _wanted_ to see couldn’t help him. And he didn’t want her to. None of this was about needing help. Not the Doctor’s help. He’d gotten distracted by humans and crushes and friendships, gotten _soft_. 

And now he was torn. Run back inside, to the humans he’d come to care about, or- or leave them behind forever, because this was _stupid_ , he wasn’t human and there was no point pretending that he was. 

“Fuck you,” he snapped, turning and stalking back inside the nightclub. For just a second before he’d turned, he’d seen sadness in the Doctor’s eyes, and the Master hated how much that made his hearts twist and clench. He shouldn’t care. He did, anyway. 

He could see his friends, three utterly distinctive heads in the crowd. The thought of leaving them behind _hurt_ , it hurt so much. But he was filled with a rage and a pain that shook him to his core, made it completely impossible to think about enjoying the rest of his night with them. They’d worry if he left, he knew that. Better that they worry than they find out who he really was. 

The Master slipped through the crowds, back outside onto the dark London streets. It was raining even harder now, a constant drumbeat on the back of his skull as he started to walk. He’d grown complacent here, in enjoying himself, in having friends. He wasn’t ready to leave them behind _just_ yet, but...he needed to be on his guard. He wasn’t human, wasn’t like them, no matter how much he could try to be. It was time to focus. He’d never get one over on the Doctor by being _soft_. 

He walked on through the night, the dirty rain mingling with the tears on his face and dropping down, down, down onto the pavement below. 

**Author's Note:**

> it’s been AGES since I updated this series, I am sorry.....and I’m sorry that the first thing I come back with is immediately ruining the Master’s happiness, oops
> 
> comments and kudos v much appreciated, hope you enjoyed <3


End file.
